Growing Up Bin Laden - Jean P. Sasson [113]
Osama greeted each member of his family before leading me inside the largest of the buildings. Omar took his brothers over to introduce them to that long-limbed dog, Bobby. Everyone else stood quietly and waited.
The buildings were basically stone huts, haphazardly constructed of different-sized rocks that had been carved out of the mountain with a crude attempt to shape them into blocks. When Osama said that I was looking at my new home, I really could not believe him.
My husband had never apologized for anything that came my way. That day was no different. Instead he pointed out that my eight children and I would have two rooms and a bathroom. There was a sitting room combined with a cooking room; and one tiny bedroom, supplied with a wooden bed built especially for me. There was a very small bathroom that had been recently constructed. Never had I seen such a place in my life, but I was so numb with shock that I nodded and feigned an interest.
I would be living with my children in extremely small square rooms set on top of a very dangerous mountain. Knowing that my husband would not tolerate any complaints, I mentioned the things that I knew were not normal for mountain huts, such as the walls painted white and most of the center floor recently covered in thin concrete. The edges of the floor that met the walls remained dirt, but there were some cheap nylon carpets softening the effect. I made no reference to the fact that there was no electricity on the mountain, even though Osama had always allowed me to use electric lighting, even when everything else of the modern world was forbidden. I guessed that we would be using lanterns, and I was right, for Osama pointed out some gas cylinders so we could replenish the lanterns when they went dry.
I saw no taps for running water, although I did not raise the topic. I spotted a new portable gas burner with only one ring, the kind that people use on camping trips, so I knew how I would be cooking our meals. My children would sleep on thin cotton mattresses on the concrete floor, as there was no furniture, other than one wooden bed, although I did see some thin cushions stacked in the corner of the largest room.
Thinking of how we might heat the hut, I looked around and spotted a steel box in a corner. There was a pipe connected to that box that led through the wall. A bunch of rough-hewed logs were stacked nearby.
Osama’s eyes followed my own and he said, “The mountains are filled with trees. The boys will provide you with plenty of wood. You will be warm.”
The mountain felt cold to me, even though we had arrived during the early part of September. Although I have lived my adult life in isolation, I knew enough to be aware that the mountains of Afghanistan were famous for fierce winter storms.
I shivered in anticipation of what was coming our way.
I waited until later that night to tell Osama that we were going to have another child. I can’t remember his response, although by that time he was the father of seventeen children, so he was most likely immune to a lot of excitement.
And so my children and I came to live in Tora Bora, on a very tall mountain that belonged to my husband. Although I was happy that we were all together, those were difficult times in so many ways.
It was not long before all of us were weary of our limited diets. We had eggs, eggs, eggs, or potatoes, potatoes, potatoes, or rice, rice, rice.
For breakfast we had scrambled eggs, white salty cheese, bread, water, and green tea. For our midday meal we sometimes had rice mixed with vegetables, or potatoes, and on occasion okra and tomatoes, if we were lucky. We rarely ate meat. Normally I would not be concerned for myself, but I was pregnant and anxious about my unborn child. My growing children were another big worry, for I knew that they required protein in their diets. For supper we had to repeat our breakfast meal, with eggs and bread. On very rare occasions we might get a can of tuna each, a treat thrilling for my little